


Because It's Not Love (But It's Still A Feeling)

by annenonymous



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annenonymous/pseuds/annenonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael wakes up next to GOB. One might surmise he has made a huge mistake. A drabble about two brothers who hate to love each other, but love to fuck (with) each other.</p>
<p>Title from the Pipettes song. <i>I just want to bump and grind with you here tonight</i>...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because It's Not Love (But It's Still A Feeling)

Michael rolled over on his side, scrabbling for the alarm clock on the dresser. He pushed aside several unused condoms – how many were there? Ten, twelve? Overkill, as was usually the case with GOB. They hadn’t even used one last night, and Michael made a mental note to get checked up. GOB seemed to be in perfect health, but then GOB was no stranger to covering up severe defects with a thin, shiny veneer of charm and swagger. Besides, once you got herpes, there was really no getting rid of it. Which kind of precluded the need to get checked up, because GOB almost definitely had herpes, which meant Michael almost definitely had it now, too. Well, what was family for?

He flipped the alarm clock over – who’d put it upside down? – and sighed. Missing a meeting with the board was bad enough, but missing it because you were too busy fucking your older brother to set an alarm was definitely worse. He rolled over again.

GOB was staring straight at him.

Michael swore, coughed (flustered), and scooted back on the mattress.

“Morning, Michael,” GOB rumbled, missing Michael’s social cues as usual and shimmying over to him. “How’d you sleep? How’s your ass?”  
“Fine. I slept fine.” Michael pointedly refused to acknowledge the reference to his ass. GOB wasn’t the considerate type, so telling him the truth would probably only lead to gloating. _Not such a big man now, are you, Mikey? All it took was some good dick to sort you out._ Jesus Christ.  
“Great,” said GOB, propping himself up on an elbow and dreamily gazing into the distance. “Last night was great. Can’t believe we didn’t even take a Forget-Me-Now. A night worth remembering, huh?”  
Michael was beginning to doubt that. In the morning GOB always looked less like an easy fuck, and more like a sleazy schmuck. His hair was sticking up in unfortunate angles, which Michael was really in no position to critique, but it seemed awkward and out of place on his showman of a brother. It was all a bit too _real_.

“Right, I need to leave. Sorry, GOB. Company needs me. Good luck with, uh…” Wrestling his pants on, Michael tried to remember which new business venture GOB had tried to explain to him last night. Something ridiculous and magic-related, no doubt. “With your tricks,” he finally decided.  
“Thanks,” said GOB, and Michael noted with concern that he hadn’t done his usual “Illusions, Michael!” spiel. Which probably meant GOB was now involved with actual prostitution.

Again.

He really needed to call his doctor.

“Are you going to Buster’s handiversary dinner tonight?” Michael buttoned up his shirt.  
“What? Which dinner?” GOB sounded hurt. Michael grimaced.  
“Mom was probably planning to call you today,” he tried, but found it difficult to picture his mother voluntarily inviting GOB, which sounded through in his voice.  
“Probably!” GOB was getting worked up. “Well, have a nice day at work, _Michael_. Should I- should I have dinner ready when you get home? Should I, should the guy in the… should the guy in the, in his, in his brother’s bed, should I, should the guy, should the guy in, in, in his brother’s pants, should, should the guy? Should I… should I… should the guy, with the dinner, should I…?”  
“Not necessary,” said Michael, shrugging on his jacket. “I’m sure mom hired a caterer.”  
“Have a great time!” GOB whined, as if he wasn’t planning on crashing the party anyway. “Don’t think of little old me! Lying here in a puddle of your semen! _Our_ semen, Mikey! The result of our-”  
“Don’t say ‘love’,” Michael warned him.  
“I was going to say _sexcapades_ ,” replied GOB. He let himself fall back on the mattress. “You know, like my new business…”  
Michael slammed the door shut behind him.


End file.
